


It's You

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-20
Updated: 2002-02-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Joey knows Lance.





	It's You

"Oh. It's you." 

Joey nods. It is him, even if that disappoints Lance, which is exactly why Joey came in the first place. There are reasons why Lance isn't answering his phone, even more reasons why he's here, alone and hiding. Joey knows Lance, better than he should, and he believes it's his duty to carry Lance through his pain. And Joey will. 

Lance looks up at him through the fan of his fingers. The lime of his eyes glimmer in the shoots of light cascading from the window, and Joey smiles. He wants to brush his fingers through Lance's hair, to hold his hand against Lance's head. But Lance doesn't want to be touched, that much is clear. Joey knows these things about Lance, too. 

"You want to talk about it?" Joey asks, and it's cautious, the way he offers Lance the words. Lance isn't a big talker, not about himself, and the Lance he does talk about isn't the Lance that Joey knows. So there's a chance he doesn't want to say anything, and Joey trusts him enough to let Lance make the decision. 

Lance shakes his head. 

"Well, then. I'm just going to sit next to you and chill, ‘kay?" 

"Whatever, Joey," Lance says and speaks it through his hand. 

Joey chills. 

~~~ 

Joey wishes he knew how to play the piano, but his fingers are neither long nor elegant. Lance owns a piano, since he took lessons for years, but he isn't great. With practice, he could be, but Lance isn't willing to walk that road. It's rare he tries anything new. Lance is intensely afraid of failure. Joey knows all about the way Lance thinks. 

Instead, Joey sings under his breath. It's stupid, of course, but it's Garth Brooks. The Dance. It doesn't apply to anything, except the fact that Lance likes it and the fact they dance together often, but they haven't ever parted ways, and Joey knows they never will. They've spent months together in private company, alone and away from the rest of the guys, but they've never been separate from each other. Joey wouldn't know how to live if they were. 

"Stop singing that," Lance demands. He sounds sour, but he pulls his hand from his face. 

Joey grins and shakes his head, stubborn. "No." 

"Jerk," Lance mutters. 

Joey keeps on singing, though it sounds like a laugh. 

~~~ 

Later, Joey curls up against him, when it's dark and Lance is at his saddest. If he's going to talk, it'll be now, when the dusk is already covering the world. Lance pushes at him but eventually goes lax, like a corpse, dead and cold. Joey presses his face against Lance's belly, until a hand comes to settle on his back. 

"Justin is an ass," Lance whispers. 

"Wrong person," Joey says, and pushes at Lance's shirt with his nose. 

Lance's fingers bend. "I hate Britney." 

"Hate is such a strong word, man." Joey looks up at him. "Try again." 

Lance closes his eyes. His eyelashes fan against his porcelain cheeks as he tips his face forward. In his travels, Joey has seen a world of Virgins carved out of marble, and they've all reminded him of Lance, save for one difference. 

"I'm so jealous," Lance amends. 

Joey nods. The warmth of Lance's skin is reassuring. 

~~~ 

Lance excuses himself to get a drink of water from the kitchen, and Joey watches the clock. Tick, tick, tick. It's set an hour behind normal time; Joey isn't sure if that's because Lance wants to remove himself from the world, or because he simply forgot he'd set it wrong. 

It's probably been like that since last spring. 

~~~ 

When Lance doesn't come back, Joey goes to find him. He's there, standing in front of the open fridge, and Joey takes two index fingers to his sides with a sharp jab. Lance jumps, a hand folding against his heart, and looks over his shoulder, 

"Oh, jeez, it's just you." 

Joey grins and ruffles his hair. "You expecting someone else, man? Got a stash of handsome Italians I don't know about?" 

"No, just an ugly one that won't leave me alone," Lance says, and smiles a bit. 

"That's the spirit." Joey bumps him out of the way with his hips, and Lance moves like a rock, heavy and unwilling. The water is in the Brita pitcher, chilled and sterile, and Joey pours them both a cup. "Feel free to keep insulting me. Or we can phone up Chris." 

Lance grins ruefully. It's small and bitten back by braces-perfect teeth, but Joey sees it. Sometimes, with Lance, things take time, and time is what Joey has. For Lance, he has all the time in the world, so he'll wait. Of course he will. 

~~~ 

"I didn't mean what I said to Justin," Lance says. 

Joey looks up from the other end of the couch, feet in Lance's lap. "The part about you hoping he gets hit by a pickup truck full of Creed fans?" 

Lance laughs and shakes his head. 

"Or the part where you said you hope he does marry Britney, the actress superstar, so then he can just break up the group and be done with it, since he obviously likes brainless, blow-up dolls so much he wants to be one, too?" Joey asks. Joey nudges Lance's stomach with his toe until he looks over. "I don't think he took you seriously, Lance. Chris didn't." 

Lance pulls at the edge of his shirt. "I meant it. In that second I said it, I meant it." 

Joey shrugs. "So what? You think he doesn't know you well enough to hear what you really meant to say?" 

Lance looks at his nails then nibbles on them a bit. "I don't know." 

"You know this isn't about Justin," Joey says. "Or even Britney." 

Lance glances far away. "I know," he says. 

Joey knows what it's all about. He knows Lance. 

~~~ 

"This is too weird," Lance says, later. 

Joey is already sitting in the tub, hot water up to his waist. His chest hair is matted and tangled, and he scratches a hand through it. Lance stands by the sink, looking at himself in mirror. He's been looking for himself as long as Joey's known him. Joey just wants to tell him that he isn't there, not in the mirror, not on the big screen, but he never does. 

"Just come in already," Joey says and slaps the tile wall. 

Lance makes Joey close his eyes as he undresses, and Joey slides back to let him in. Lance hisses at the heat and drops down too fast. Water splashes against the sides, spilling over onto the floor. This tub isn't big enough to swim in, but it's close. Lance stays on the opposite side. 

"I'm not going to stay in here with you, if you do that." He waves a hand at the water. 

Joey looks down, at the bubbles hitting the surface, and he grins as more of them escape. 

"Fuck off," Lance says, but there's no malice in his voice. 

"What sort of friends are we if we can't share a bath and fart in each other's company?" Joey asks and lets another round of bubbles go. Lance rolls his eyes, but his lips dance with a muted smile. Joey pinches his ankle. "Come on." 

"Unlike you, I'm a gentleman," Lance says. "My momma raised me well." 

"Don't make me squeeze it out of you," Joey threatens. He's laughing as he points his finger at Lance, who also chuckles, low and deep in his chest. "You think communal bathing and farting is crazy, wait until you have two hundred pounds of naked Fatone wrapped around you." 

"Oh, jeez. Fine." 

It takes a while, but Joey gets his bubbles. 

~~~ 

The water runs cold, but Joey sits on Lance as he refills, hotter this time, nearly scalding. Lance keeps his hands against Joey's back and doesn't try to escape. Satisfied, Joey sits back and props his heels up on the edge of the tub, spreadeagled. 

"Remind me why I'm friends with you again?" 

"My balls freaking you out, man?" Joey asks, and closes his eyes. He added a bit of scented oil to the water, so it smells strange, unearthly. Whatever it is, Lance reeks of it often. "Admit it, you're cheering up, and it's all due to those balls." 

"I think it's more the person they're attached to," Lance admits. 

Joey grins blindly. 

"It's you," Lance says. 

~~~ 

Lance starts crying when Joey least expects it. Joey buffs the towel over his own body, drying between his legs with a vigorous rub, then he twirls up the terrycloth and slaps it at Lance's bare ass. And Lance cries, though not because of that, just because of everything. 

"Hey," Joey says and drapes a towel over Lance's shoulders. He leads Lance to the bed and sits with him, running a hand through his wet hair. Lance cries quietly, always has. He cries so predators don't hear him; Lou was always impressed that Lance never broke down like the rest of them did, when things got really hard, when they broke. 

But Lance was shattered for years. Sometimes, Joey thinks he still is. 

~~~ 

Joey wraps him in a strong hug. Lance isn't a big guy. He looks large, in pictures, on television, but he's small and slight with soft angles and smooth skin. In Joey's arms, he practically disappears, but that's all right. Joey always knows where he is, even when Lance is invisible. 

"I'm so ashamed," Lance breathes. 

"Don't be. You love that movie," Joey say and selfishly wants to hurt the people who took this from Lance. "I love that movie. It's ours. People can talk shit about it, Britney's movie can make millions, it doesn't matter. We love it." 

"It makes me sick to think about," Lance admits, and he shakes. It's a full body tremor, right down to the bone, and Joey pulls him closer, right into his lap. Lance curls up and tries to vanish, but Joey never lets him, wouldn't know what to do if he was gone. 

"Lance," Joey whispers, wet against his ear. Lance just grows smaller, like he's found a way to escape. So Joey rocks him, back and forth, a physical lullaby. "Lance," he says, like it says everything, when it's just a name. "Lance." 

"I wish I'd never made it. I want to take it back. I hate it so much." 

Lance sounds a thousand miles away, and Joey holds him closer. He's naked and shivering, a face wet with silent tears, and Joey folds over his small body, keeping him warm. There's nothing more to say, and Lance wouldn't listen to it anyway. 

~~~ 

Lance tries to apologise, opens his mouth to shout out the words, but Joey folds a palm over the hole and shakes his head. He pinches the baby fat around Lance's belly when he tries again, and he says, "Lance, stop. It's okay." 

Joey unfolds him and makes him stand up, even though Lance looks at the ground. He takes Lance's arms and puts one on his shoulder, the other in his hand. And they dance, ballroom style. Neither of them are very good, but it's all right. At least they're bad together. 

"Why are we dancing?" Lance asks. 

"Why not?" Joey twirls Lance around, and Lance comes back to him, breathless and sparkling. Joey grins and dips him, arm around his naked waist before pulling him close again. "Who else could I naked ballroom dance with?" 

Lance shrugs, shy. 

"No one. Just you." Joey leads them across the floor, the dark wood cool beneath their bare feet. Lance is handsome in the glimmer of the moon, white-skinned and slight, and Joey spins him again just to look at him. When he comes back, Lance laughs, sudden and full. Joey grins into his hair and feels full, too. "We're like those two dancers." 

"Which ones?" Lance asks, looking up with wide, beautiful eyes. 

"I can't remember, but we're just like them," Joey says. 

And Lance smiles.


End file.
